


May I Have This Dance?

by StevieAng



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Actor Tom Hiddleston, F/M, Plus-size marvel, Tom Hiddle, plus-size rpf reader insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-11-14 16:34:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18056117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StevieAng/pseuds/StevieAng
Summary: Two of your best friends are getting married and you have the honor of singing at their wedding.  At the reception you’re approached by a famous friend of the groom, Tom Hiddleston.  Much polite flirting ensues.  Will there be more to come?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first RPF. I missed writing WAY more than I thought I would, but life had me completely inundated and unable to do anything but get through what I needed to everyday. I missed my Tumblr family, I missed creative thinking, and I hope this lives up to what you’ve come to expect and like from me. Thank you in advance for your time and kindness. Constructive, kind feedback is ALWAYS welcome.

“Excuse me, but would you care to dance?”

 

You were fully engrossed in the game you were playing with the ring bearer, flower girl, and other assorted guests’ children and hadn’t bothered to turn at the sound of the voice.  By the time you felt the gentle but noticeable tap on your shoulder, you had long-stopped wondering who had asked. 

 

“Excuse me? I’m sorry to bother you, but - “

 

“5-4-3-2-1 Ready or not here I come!”  You slowly and dramatically turned towards the giggles and titters of little voices, slid your hands down over your closed eyes, and widened your stance to catch the little buggers.  As you opened your eyes to scan the room and made unconvincing assertions of how quickly you’d win, you barely caught yourself from plowing into the tall, lanky man who did not try in the least to conceal a smirk.

 

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry.  Did I bump into you?” Your momentary distress quickly morphed into nervous laughter as you realized with whom the gods had chosen for you to cross paths with.

 

“Nope, not even a little.  I’m the one who should apologize to you, as I’ve clearly interrupted a highly competitive game of hide-and-seek.”  You snickered and shrugged your shoulders as the back of your dress and each of your hands were unceremoniously yanked by little people who had yet to learn that patience is a virtue.  Maybe that’s why you enjoyed being around children so much - you hadn’t learned that particular lesson yet, either. 

 

You mouthed “sorry” as you turned your head away, and saw him shake his head, appearing to chuckle as he took off his glasses to clean them.  As he turned towards the other guests, you fell back into the seedy underworld of high-stakes hide-and-seek, but you weren’t likely to forget that moment any time soon.

 

Tom Hiddleston had just asked you to dance.

 

As the night wore on, you lost the company of your young compatriots as their parents collected their offspring, thanked you profusely, and carried them off.  You were grateful to return to the grown-up world and quickly sought out the bar. As you sipped on the best gin-and-tonic you’d ever had, the newlyweds and some members of the bridal party found their way over and a chorus of memories, laughter, and challenges rose up.

 

“C’mon, please?!??!  You can’t say no to us tonight, we’re protected under the “we just got married” statute.  Please????” The drunk pleading by the newly Marrieds almost made you snort Bombay Sapphire out of your nose.  

 

“You’d better be grateful that I’m in such a good mood.  Give me a minute to go over and introduce myself then I guess I’ll make sure I’m not held in custody on the ‘You Said No To The Marrieds’ statute.”

 

After a few minutes of getting redirected at each attempt to get away, you took the microphone and cleared your throat.

 

“Excuse me, folks.  I know you may have had your fill of my singing voice after the wedding today, but I’ve been asked by the newlyweds to close out the night by singing one of their favorite songs, which to be honest, is also one of mine.  I’m told that I cannot deny this request, as it is part of the canon of newly-married law, and since both of them are lawyers, I guess I have to comply.” As the pianist started the intro, you closed your eyes and swayed.  This one earned you lots of applause (and much-needed gigs) in college, and the words poured out without thought. 

  
  


The very thought of you and I forget to do

The little ordinary things that everyone ought to do

I'm living in a kind of daydream, I'm happy as a king

And foolish though it may seem to me that's everything

 

The mere idea of you, the longing here for you

You'll never know how slow the moments go till I'm near to you

I see your face in every flower, your eyes in stars above

It's just the thought of you, the very thought of you, my love

 

When the last notes faded along with your voice, the remaining guests whistled and cheered.  Your blush quickly faded as your best friends, including the bride and groom, tackle-hugged you and walked you off the stage in a laughing huddle.  You thanked every person that was kind enough to compliment you, and smiled dreamily as you saw the unmistakable frame of the famous actor in the room talking with your best friends.  

 

As he saw you approach, his smile widened and The Marrieds followed his gaze to you.  He excused himself, gesturing “one minute” while he visited the bar, and quickly returned on his trajectory to you, now with a bottle of water in his hands.  It seemed to roll off his impossibly-long fingers while his other hand gently encircled your wrist. You were feeling the effects of the performance high, your drinks, and the long happy day at the same time, which loosened your tongue.

 

“Thank you very much.  I know etiquette requires me to sip daintily, so you'll need to forgive me while I down this in a less-than-ladylike way.  Please don’t tell my mother.” His laugh was a rolling baritone, easy and well-practiced, accompanied by eye contact that would usually make you turn away from its intensity.

 

You checked him out as you tried not to gulp.  Thankfully you didn’t choke or need the Heimlich because drinking bought you a minute to wonder what in the hell Tom Hiddleston wanted with you.  Was he trying to return something you dropped? Was he going to compliment your singing? You weren’t quite drunk enough to ask outright, so you capped the plastic bottle and smiled.

 

“Thank you, that hit the spot.  It was nice meeting you, but I think I’m going to head back….” His smile dimmed a bit as he recognized your attempt to leave. Reaching out, he quickly spoke over you so you wouldn’t end the sentence.

 

“Ummmm, no.”

 

Awkward silence. Crickets. 

 

“Excuse me?” Tentacles of weirdness raced up your spine. Sweat formed on the back of your neck as you formulated your escape plan. 

 

His nervous laughter caught your attention. “I mean, yes, it’s nice to meet you, too and you’re welcome, but….” 

 

Your eyes followed his as they cast downward and then popped back up with a shyer, smaller smile.  “I’d hoped you’d have a dance with me.”

 

Cue full-on tipsy giggles. “I’d love to, but it seems the band is packing up.”  

 

He let your wrists gently drop and practically leapt over to the bandstand.  After a few minutes of bowed heads, covert pointing, and close talking, he returned with the smile you’d seen projected on a 50-foot screen.   With a short bow, he held out his hand.

 

“Problem solved.  Now, if you would be so kind as to dance with me?”  

 

You put your hand in his as he led you to the nearby dance floor.  You remained completely clueless as to what alternate universe you had fallen into.  Maybe you were dreaming. You’d have to pinch yourself to find out, but Tom didn’t give you the time.  

 

He pulled you closer, placed one hand respectfully on your thicker-than-average waist, and, taking your right hand in his left, placed it on his chest.  You looked up and could not hold back soft laughter. He quietly asked what you were thinking.

 

The band was doing a sweet rendition of “Wonderful Tonight,” and you hummed along.  As he turned you slowly, the distance between you lessened. 

 

“Nothing, just having a wonderfully unexpected dance with a world-renowned actor.  It’s how I normally spend my Saturday nights.” He leaned back to make eye contact, smiled, and returned to twirling.  His hand had worked its way further around your waist and your hand that was not on his chest had moved to cup the back of his neck.  As the last twangy notes played, you tried to pull away, to quickly gloss over any awkward goodbyes, but he held fast.

 

“I sound like a broken record, but thank you.”  His face quickly changed from dreamy to serious, which was disconcerting.

 

“What?” Your face belied your urgency to cut to the chase and say goodnight. 

 

He stepped back and moved his hands to your wrists, his light touch giving you goosebumps.

 

“I’m curious - why do you keep trying to leave? Have I offended you somehow?” His eyes locked on yours, a sincerely curious look on his face.

 

“No, of course not, but I figured you needed to go and I didn’t want to make anything awkward.  I avoid awkward at all costs.”

 

“If anything, leaving would be bittersweet. I was hoping you’d have a drink with me so we wouldn’t have to broach that subject yet.”

 

Your neutral expression masked your shock.  It was a practiced response after years of suppressing laughter when your students did something hilariously inappropriate.  He didn’t press, didn’t ask again, didn’t change his mind. He simply waited and looked, bringing front and center how uncomfortable it made you to be seen.   

 

“Let me freshen up, and I’ll meet you in the bar downstairs in 20 minutes or so?”  You giggled, again, as he bowed and kissed your hand, taking your leave and saying goodnight to other guests.

 

You started to sober up as you took the elevator to your room, took a shower and threw on the outfit you wore to the bachelorette party 3 nights earlier, thanking God you had sent it out to be cleaned.  By the time you made your way downstairs, you felt more like yourself, more in control, less starstruck.

 

You smiled tiredly as he stood to greet you, offering you the outside seat on the banquette.  It was late enough that you didn’t need to shout, and you had just the right amount of attention from the waiter and bartender, without attracting fans.  You shared your plan to stay in the area for two more weeks, visiting friends and seeing the sights, while he mentioned he was going to be in town for a few days, as well.

 

You sipped on a delicious champagne Tom suggested and asked him something that had run in and out of your mind since the days of your high school obsession with Phantom of the Opera and Les Miserables.  

 

“Tell me how you split yourself between the real you and the part you’re playing.  I’d guess that every part you play contains some small piece of you, but how do you reconcile that with being “just you,” being the person that your family and dearest friends know? Is it difficult to become someone else and then return to everyday life?”

 

He listened, smiled softly, and sighed.  “You’ve just asked the same question that was posed to the very first people to pretend in front of others.”  He went on to explain about the psychological work he had done and still does to prepare for roles, the time it takes to transition back and forth between roles and real life, and some funny stories about times when he’s mixed up the two with memorable results.

 

The familiar chuckle snapped you out of your reverie.  You saw his loose curls move side to side and wondered why he had stopped talking, then realized you’d yawned several times in a row.  “I’m sorry, I heard what you said, but I think your voice lulled me into another state of consciousness. It’s very soothing.”

 

His smile was bright, but tired.  “Are you saying I put you to sleep? Guess I’m not as captivating as I’ve been led to believe.”  He cut off your attempt to explain. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been going on but you’ve struck the mother lode - asking an actor about how they prepare psychologically for their life’s work is a question worthy of a monologue. Didn’t mean to hypnotize you.”

 

He silently covered your hands with his as you brought out your wallet to pay for your drinks.  “Please, let me. I invited you, remember?” Your nod was followed by evidence of your stubbornness.  “Thank you, I’ll just leave a tip, then.” He stood as you did, steadying you while you took your leave.

 

“Thank you for the dance, and the drink, and the conversation, Tom.  It made this gorgeous day even better.” You kissed his cheek, noticing he closed his eyes while you did.

 

“Thank you, as well.  Tonight was an unexpected delight.  Would it be alright if I asked to see you again?”

 

You smiled and sighed.  “You have my number.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of your best friends are getting married and you have the honor of singing at their wedding. At the reception you’re approached by a famous friend of the groom, Tom Hiddleston. Much polite flirting ensues. What will happen next?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the wonderful responses, reblogs, and likes on this, my first RPF! I am always stunned at how wonderfully supportive this community can be, and it makes my day better each and every time I get one of those notifications. Here’s a second chapter and I have a third planned. We’ll see how folks feel about it, if it’s worth continuing. Thanks again!!!!! Happy V-Day!!!!!!!

((Italics are used when characters use American Sign Language to converse, rather than spoken English)

 

When you turned over and saw the sun peeking around the edges of the hotel curtains, you reached out lazily for your phone and yelped when you saw the time. It was 3 o’clock in the afternoon, and you were just waking up. You hadn’t slept that late since...well...ever. You quickly did your “morning” stroll through the land of social media and after eating a protein bar you stashed in your suitcase and drinking a large bottle of SmartWater, set up on your balcony with a book and your music. Life was very good.

Around the same time on the top floor of the hotel, Tom awoke to several messages from his team - his agent, manager, director of his next project - all wanting to check in with him and ask when he planned to return to work. After letting them know he’d be in D.C. for a few days and that he was relatively unscathed, his thoughts turned to you. Though it was your voice that grabbed him - honey and whiskey with a touch of bright sweetness - it was your easy smile and raucous, unrestrained joy that pulled him closer. When you danced and he saw how comfortable you were in your life, in your circle of friends, in your body, his feelings shifted from interested to intrigued.

To be honest, he’d become quite accustomed to women throwing themselves at him, or, at the very least, not making it difficult to get to know them better. You immediately stood out with your gentle stubbornness, obvious kindness and undeniable intelligence. It was a potent combination that made him eager to learn more, though he surprised himself when he honestly could not say whether you were as interested as he was. No time like the present to test the waters.

 **TWH:** Good afternoon. Sleep well?

Nothing. No conversation bubble, no “read” receipt, no response.

Nothing. You were surprised Tom hadn’t been in touch after last night. You had tried very hard in recent years to enjoy each moment as it came, to live in the present, rather than pissing it away by focusing on the future. You were disappointed, no doubt, but figured it was a time and experience you’d always hold close to your heart. It had been awhile since you’d felt a connection with anyone, and to think it was with someone as kind and gentlemanly as Tom? Well, that was icing on the cake. (Not to mention that he was shockingly handsome, funny, and intense).

You showered with the intention of washing off the cobwebs and went out in search of dinner. D.C. had many amazing restaurants, but you were only interested in one thing - pizza. With your wallet and phone safely tucked away, you headed down to the lobby to find your idea of oooey, gooey, cheesy, heaven. You confirmed the address with the concierge and were almost out the door when you saw Tom standing out on the sidewalk, talking and laughing with a stunning woman with black hair, a figure worthy of Vogue, and 6-inch heels. You ignored your instinct to hang back, to avoid being seen, but there was no need. He saw you and smiled, excused himself, and walked over, kissing your cheek. His companion kept her focus on her phone, so you quickly filled him in on your current mission for pizza and started for the door.

“You don’t have to rush off, we’ve got a few minutes.” He glanced sideways at his date and reached out for your fingertips, playing with then as if they were piano keys. That started all kinds of unexpected conflicted feelings and you suddenly found something shiny to pick up on the ground, allowing you to step just out of his reach. He noticed.

“I tried texting you this morning, but when I didn’t hear back I wondered, again, if I’d done something that upset you.” His arms were crossed across his chest and his upper body leaned forward. It was casually done but felt intentional, powerful. You felt important. After assuring him he hadn’t and showing him that you hadn’t received any messages you quickly determined that he had transposed two numbers when he entered your info into his phone. You laughed thinking about whomever received a message from him and if they had any clue of their unintentional brush with celebrity.

His companion quietly made her way over, looping her arm through his and lazily laying her hand on his bicep. She smiled and whispered, making a small smile appear as he patted her hand and bid you goodnight with a small bow. You smiled and walked away, intent on yummy sustenance. Little did you know Tom’s eyes followed you until he ducked into the waiting car.

You were in search of heaven and you found it. The same pizza place you frequented in grad school was still in business and walking in was like stepping into a time warp. You were hit with a wave of memories some bright and happy, others sadly nostalgic. Pushing the past aside, you stepped forward and ordered. As you waited, you took some pictures and posted them, tagging your grad school friends that you’d be seeing the next night. You decided to Uber home (for the sake of the pizza) and you were soon ensconced in your room, pizza and new teenage rom-com queued up. You glanced over when your text alert sounded, fully expecting responses to your Instagram posts. Nope.

 **TWH:** Was your quest successful, m’lady?  
**You:** Yes, kind sir, thank you. How’s dinner?  
**TWH:** Delicious, but my mind’s elsewhere, to be honest.  
**You:** Your poor date! She doesn’t deserve anything less than your full attention. I’m disappointed. :(  
**TWH:** My date?? You mean Laura? We’re not on a date.  
**You:** Oh, ok. Sorry to make an assumption, but you were standing next to a ravishingly beautiful woman, both dressed up, and you left together in the same car. Hmmmmm….wonder why I thought that? LOL  
**TWH:** I can see why you did. I’m sorry I didn’t disavow you of the idea, but Laura is the producer of an upcoming film and we were meeting the backers tonight. It’s work, that’s all. Money talk.  
**You:** Well, at least you’re getting a nice night out with hopefully nice people.  
**TWH:** Yes, that I am. They want to go out to a bar for drinks, but I’m thinking of begging off.  
**You:** You ok?  
**TWH:** Yes, but as I said, my mind is elsewhere and I think I’ve successfully done what was asked of me. I believe I’ll be able to exit gracefully without repercussion.  
You: Ok, well, as long as you’re alright. I’ll let you be so you can extricate yourself and enjoy the rest of the evening.

You smiled and pressed send. Before you could start the movie, there was a text alert immediately followed by a knock at the door.

 **TWH:** I’m extricated and I hope to, thanks.

Your look through the peephole had you chuckling as you quickly opened the door and smiled.

Tom’s suit jacket was open, his hands clasped behind his back. “I told you my mind was elsewhere.”

“I didn’t think that meant here, but I’m happy it did.” He smiled brilliantly at your response.

“Since you mentioned pizza and movies, I’ve been preoccupied with both. I don’t mean to put you on the spot, but could I join you? I come bearing gifts.” He brought his hands from behind his back, one holding a very good bottle of wine and the other holding a tub of chocolate ice cream with caramel and chocolate. You almost jumped him then and there.

After ushering him in, freezing the ice cream, pouring the wine, and offering him his choice of seat and slices, you started “To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before,” the new movie that transported you back to the days of Sixteen Candles and Jake Ryan, your first movie crush.

You had seen it a few times before (ok, 15. Ok, ok maybe more than that when you fast forwarded to the smooshy parts), so you were glad to show off when you answered Tom’s questions. The script was based on the best-selling YA novel of the same name, the lead actors were new-ish with crazy chemistry, and it had been such a success that Netflix had already ordered a second installment. Tom’s laugh prompted you to turn to him with an “are you making fun of me?” look on your face, which started him roaring.

“You are adorable. You are so invested in this story, it’s infectious.” You pushed his shoulder as you turned red.

“I’m not making fun, darling, I guess I’m just jaded. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to see a movie through the eyes of someone looking at the finished product rather than the million moving parts that go into making it. It’s beautiful.”

He grabbed your hand, both of you looking down as he intertwined his fingers with yours and spoke so quietly you wouldn’t have heard him if you weren’t side by side. “You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you, Tom.” His other hand had come round and was softly placed on your thigh.

“Is this ok?” was barely audible, but you nodded. As you covered his other hand with yours, your laptop screen lit up, making you drop his hand, bounce off the couch, and shriek with happiness. You ran over to accept the Video Relay Call from your one of your grad school roommates, Jason.

Tom was sure you wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss you, but instead, he was sitting alone, dumbfounded. You were staring at the laptop, clearly engaged in a hilarious conversation with the person on the other end, in sign language. He stood up and walked next to you, watching you use a variety of facial expressions, both obvious and subtle, that would make many actors jealous. He wished he understood.

You were so engrossed in the conversation that you barely noticed Tom sitting near you, watching you, with zero clue of what you were talking about. You didn’t feel right about that.

 **You:** _J, hold on a sec, I have someone over and he doesn’t sign. Let me catch him up._  
**Jason:** _“Someone?” Who is this someone? Do I know him? Go ahead, I’ll wait._

When you pulled yourself away from Jason, it was surreal to see Tom quietly staring, as if he was studying you.

You were struck by the uniqueness of the moment and threw your head back with laughter. “I’m sorry, Tom. I remember what it was like when I first started signing - I would watch fluent users for hours but have no clue what they were talking about, but didn’t really care because it was so beautiful, so graceful. This is Jason, he was one of my roommates in grad school at Gallaudet University, here in D.C. We’re getting together tomorrow night to see a play on campus.”

Tom took a deep breath in and blew an equally long one out while he took off his glasses and massaged the bridge of his nose. “You were transformed….so expressive, so energetic.” After looking at your face, he quickly added, “Not that you aren’t those things usually, but….”

You jumped in to save him from himself. “You’re absolutely right. When hearing people communicate, we rely on our tone of voice and the way we combine words, to convey the strength of our emotion. In ASL, that responsibility is transferred to the body - facial expressions and body language are grammatical markers and necessary to communicate fluently.” You turned your head back to the screen as your peripheral vision caught Jason waving for your attention.

 **You:** _Sorry J, I was just going down the Intro to ASL road….I should introduce the two of you, you do it way better than me._  
**Jason:** _Hey, any friend of yours….why don’t you bring him to the show tomorrow night. There are plenty of tickets and I need to do my male roommate duty of vetting potential suitors._  
**You:** _Who says he’s a potential suitor?_  
**Jason:** _Your blushing, smiling face every time you even mention him. What’s his name by the way?_

“He’s asking about you and wondering if you want to come to the play tomorrow night. I think he really just wants to embarass me.” Because you were signing and speaking at the same time, Jason jumped up with a “YES” so loudly that it clearly took Tom by surprise, as it did most people.

“Do you want me to come? I don’t want to intrude on a night with your…..friend?” His eyebrows were raised expectantly, hoping the reality was something different.

“J says there will be voice interpreting, so you’ll wear a pair of headphones and hear everything the actors are signing. I think you’d love it, if for no other reason than seeing a type of acting you’ve never experienced. It’s unforgettable. Please come.” He nodded and you finished up the call after finalizing the details for meeting up the next night.

Non-stop yawning commenced as soon as you sat back on the couch, and Tom excused himself for the night. As he kissed your cheek and slowly pulled back to look at you, you wished your body chose another time to yawn so big you felt like you dislocated your jaw. You both chuckled and wished each other a good night, with promises to get in touch late morning.

“I’ll call you with the details, if that’s alright?”

His smile made you think of the Cheshire Cat. “Of course it’s alright. You have my number.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of your best friends are getting married and you have the honor of singing at their wedding. At the reception you’re approached by a famous friend of the groom, Tom Hiddleston. Much polite flirting ensues. Here’s the “more to come.” Enjoy!
> 
> If too much sweet fluffiness isn’t your thing, then keep on going. This is full-on no-holds-barred fluff, though this chapter throws in some angsty goodness at the end, an homage to @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Thank you so much for your time, your kind words, and all the good stuff you send my way! I am loving this fic now, and though this chapter took me a long time to start, it flowed once I did. This chapter has a lot of things I hold dear to my heart - American Sign Language and those that use it. I’ve included a few links to YouTube videos that showcase Deaf theatre and Deaf actors. If you’ve never seen people using sign language “in real life” this will give you an idea of the energy it can give off when you see it! They are all captioned - equal access for all!
> 
> Again - dialogue in ITALICS indicates characters using American Sign Language to communicate.

Click on the link to have an introduction to [Deaf Theatre in NYC](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=am_INcwPzFY)

 

Tom turned over in bed, trying to stretch away the kinks from a poor night’s sleep.  He had tossed and turned, thinking about you - your joy, the kind, honest way you spoke, and how you made him feel things he hadn’t felt in awhile. He couldn’t shake the feeling of a missed opportunity; that he had lost the chance of some great “bolt of lightning” moment by not having kissed you.  Yet.

________

Another morning, another first thought of Tom maybe kissing you one of these days.  That dreamy train of thought was quickly derailed by your videophone alerting you had a call.  You barely had time to grab your glasses and pull your hair up before accepting the call, but thankfully Jason had seen you right after rolling out of bed when you were roommates.  

**Jason:** _ Is HE with you? _

**You:** _ Good morning to you, too.  No. _

**Jason:** _ Why not? It was clear how much he liked you. _

**You:** _ Just was really tired last night, wasn’t the right time. _

**Jason:**   _ You sure that’s it? You ok? _

You had known Jason for too long and subtlety was not a specialty.

**You:** _ J, don’t worry, it’s all good.  I’m gonna change the subject - when and where tonight? _

As you figured out what the evening was going to bring, your text alert sounded. Tom.  

Jason wiggled his eyebrows and signed off, making you chuckle.

**TWH:** Good morning

**You:** Good morning, did you sleep well?

**TWH:** Somewhat.  Hard time falling asleep.

**You:** I’m sorry, I hate when that happens.  What are you up to today?

The conversation bubble popped up, then disappeared, then started bubbling again.  Your stomach called for breakfast so you left your phone, washed your face, pulled on your jeans, and made your way out the door. The bubble was still percolating as you opened the door and stepped out backwards to make sure it was locked.  You yelped and apologized as your backside connected with someone in the hall.

 

“Oh my God, I’m so…” Your card key flew out of your hand as you turned around, hearing a familiar baritone chuckle and a set of familiar hands holding your waist.

 

“Sorry I startled you, darling.  I hoped I could convince you to join me for breakfast.”  His eyes found the key card as you stepped back towards your door, and his fingers barely grazed the top of your hand as he handed it over.  While you fiddled with the card to avoid his eyes, your goosebumpy flesh betrayed his effect on you.

Your smile was tired, but real.  “You didn’t have to come all this way, I would’ve met up somewhere.”  Though it wasn’t your intent, your voice must have relayed something that made him step back.

He hung his head for a moment and you saw something new - seriousness.  “I’m sorry. I made an assumption that you’d be needing breakfast, as well.  Of course, I should have asked before showing up.”

The tops of your shoes touched his and you entwined your right hand with his left as you sought out his eyes.  “A heads up would’ve been nice. I might’ve put in a little more effort when I got ready, but seeing you here is wonderful.  Thank you for making the effort.” He brightened - and not just his smile or his eyes, but his entire countenance that stayed lit the entire ride to the restaurant.  

The morning was so easy, so real.  You were both tired, so neither of you was trying to filter too much, try too hard, or impress the other.  Breakfast at an out of the way diner almost became a Comic Con event when Tom was recognized, but he sidestepped the hoopla by posing for a few photos, signing autographs, and making wonderfully genial small talk that made all his fans feel heard and special.

When you were safely ensconced in a cab, taking an unofficial sightseeing tour, you remarked how impressed you were by the way he treated his fans.

“It must be so difficult when people see you as one character, but you never seem to begrudge it.  In just a few days I’ve seen you be completely courteous, charming, and generous with anyone that approaches you.  It means something when you treat people nicely when you don’t have to.”

That famous smile made an appearance.  “What exactly, pray tell, does it mean to you?”

Red spots bloomed across your cheeks as you rested your fingers on his leg, “That you were raised to treat everyone with kindness and respect.”

He dropped his head forward and covered his hand with yours.  “Thank you. I am grateful for my fans. I recognize that I would be in a different place in my career without them, but to be honest, the attention sometimes makes it difficult when I want to spend time with someone special.” He reached for the hand you were resting on his thigh and looked straight through you.  

You were still.  Your thoughts were silent, your feelings calm.  The driver, on the other hand, took the lull in the conversation as a springboard for a rambling narrative about the various sights.  You both let out the breaths you were holding and laughed. The rest of the drive was spent learning about D.C. and talking about the plans to meet up with your friends at a Deaf Theatre Company production of “ [ Romeo and Juliet ](https://abc7chicago.com/entertainment/theater-combines-verbal-sign-language-in-romeo-and-juliet-production/1062553/) ” that night. 

While waiting for Tom, you checked yourself in the mirror.  You had pampered yourself - a nap, a luxuriating bath in the jet stream tub, and enough time to look your best.  You only had the clothes you’d packed, but you were able to piece together red pants, a black top and faux-diamond accessories.  The  [ outfit ](http://wheretoget.it/look/3975713) along with your styled up-do and somewhat dramatic makeup made you feel more alive than you had in years.

Tom’s knock sent your stomach flipping, and his outfit -  [ navy slacks and jacket with a crisp white shirt underneath and, of course, the glasses ](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4154756/mediaviewer/rm2366982400) \- may have caused heart palpitations.  His face was soft and caring as he complimented your outfit and handed you a beautiful white rose.

“Shall we?” and his ever-offered arm led you to the waiting car, where you shared how nervous you were, provoking a suspicious look.

Your fears tumbled out without stopping.  “I’m afraid I’ve built this up too much, and you won’t be as astounded as I think you’ll be, then that’ll just cause a shame spiral about how I wasted your evening.”  His face easily slid from questioning to playfully mocking and had you laughing and leaning back on the headrest before you even finished the sentence. He turned a bit, taking your left hand in both of his and letting his leg rest against yours.

“No matter how good or not, what I’m most excited about is that it’s a new experience, a new way of bringing the words and feelings to the audience.  After the little bit I saw last night, I can only imagine the kind of energy an immersive signing experience will have.”

Watching two people sign is one thing, but being thrust into a space full of people using their bodies, voices, and faces to communicate is quite another.  You made sure to keep an eye on Tom, as his eyes rapidly scanned the lobby, his gaze unable to rest on one place. You quickly found Jason and his boyfriend surrounded by your friend group from grad school.  You had time to introduce them all before the show - you signed for yourself and Tom, and voiced for everyone that signed to him. You were sweating by the time you sat down and looked forward to the show, while Tom held tight to your hand and let you help him adjust his assistive listening device that channeled the interpreter’s voices.

A performance in American Sign Language is silent, which is an eerie feeling for a hearing person.  It took you years to get used to it, but now it was second nature. You could tell Tom was trying to reconcile what he  _ saw _ with what he  _ heard _ and what he had  _ done _ when performing the play, which was a huge amount of input and work for his brain.  You whispered the same advice you’d received when you were inaugurated into this world.

“Close your eyes, Tom.  Your brain doesn’t know how to process all the visual information, and it’s likely you’ll get a headache if you keep focusing on what you’re hearing and seeing with such intensity.  Just take little breaks from looking and then come back to it when you feel ready.” His smile was weary, and he kissed your forehead and whispered his thanks before doing just as you suggested behind his steepled hands.  At the intermission you excused yourselves from the group and took him outside to a secluded area where you could speak to each other without excluding anyone who could not hear. You handed him a drink, sat next to him, and held his hand.

“You ok? We can leave if it’s getting to be too much.”  He lifted his head and looked at you with an intensity you only recognized from his work.

“Absolutely not.  This….this...defies description.”  The fierceness of his stare sent shivers down your neck and arms.  “As do you.”

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours, his hand behind your neck urging you to stay lost in the kiss, which you were more than happy to do.  When you unlocked from each other, you rested your foreheads together by some unspoken arrangement.

Your text alert sounded.  “It’s Jason, intermission is over.”

He stood, buttoned his jacket, and tugged on the hem before offering you his hand, giving you a much softer kiss before escorting you back inside.  Jason and company did not wait more than 30 seconds before starting the inquisition via text after you sat down. 

**Jason:** Did you just make out with him?

**You:** Did you seriously just make this a group text?

**Jason:** We were ALL thinking it, so YES.  

**Tina:** Answer the question!

**You:** Maybe

**Jason:** Told you! I knew it! You go girl!

**You:** I’m turning off my phone. I love you guys.

Tom leaned over and kissed your temple while holding your hand.  You squeezed back and filled him in on your nosy but loving friends.  That smile.

“It was worth an inquisition.”  He turned back to the stage as the curtain rose, feeling your excitement build.

You gladly accompanied Tom backstage to meet the cast and crew, who were starstruck and grateful for his praise.  He asked questions that caused a flurry of hands and voices that made him laugh in appreciation of its energy. He answered their questions, many about his own Shakespearean work, that made them nod.  He asked the director for his info, and remarked that though he might need a bit of a break from all the visual input, he could not wait to experience another play in ASL. You both took your leave to meet up with your friends at a local pub, Tom excitedly talking about the show and pulling you into his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders.

You slid into the backseat of the Uber and leaned back, your eyes closed, while Tom continued sharing his thoughts on the evening.  You realized he was no longer talking and lolled your head to the left, met his eyes, and smiled as he quieted.

“I’m sorry for the running on, darling, this is all new for me.  I can’t wait to think about it, learn more about it. He closed the miniscule distance between you and kissed you while your eyes fluttered shut.  Your right hand gently laid against his cheek as you assured him you were thrilled that it lived up to all your hype and that yes, you were up to meeting your friends out for dinner.

The long table stretched across the largest part of the pub’s eating area and you guided Tom to sit where he would be able to hear you interpreting what was being signed.  He thought it was a good spot to give you a discreet kiss or two, but he had something else to learn about Deaf people - there wasn’t much that slipped by them. You laughed and blushed and edited the snarky (but well-meant) comments directed at you, but that didn’t stop him from keeping his hands on or near you and nuzzling your neck when you weren’t actively signing.  You were happy.

Dinner was loud, fun, and over the top, like most Deaf-friendly events that included alcohol and a group of people who could all understand each other.  You did your best to keep him in the loop and participate in the conversation in your own way, only stopping to eat and drink and take a break or two to get some fresh air.  

When you were outside taking a minute to let your brain rest, Tom followed, sidled up next to you and held your face carefully in his hands.

“You are such a rare woman.  Thank you for tonight and thank you for letting me kiss you before, and now.” You eagerly met him, only to be interrupted by the group waving and shouting to get your attention.

His smile was tired. “I guess we’re being paged?”  You decided you would go in, say your goodnights, and head back to the hotel, but you were sidetracked by the promise of dessert.  As you shared warm pie and ice cream with your date, Jason banged on the table to get everyone’s attention.

_ “Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we are together to celebrate the fantastic performance of Romeo and Juliet.  Good friends, good food, and good times make me feel very lucky and, on a personal note, I want to welcome back my best friend and former roommate, who we’ve all missed so much.” _

As everyone cheered, you toasted the table, and agreed how nice it was to share the time with them.  Jason wasn’t done yet, though. He looked directly at you with nothing but love in his eyes.

_ “I want to tell you, my dear one, how happy we all are that you’ve brought Tom with you and that you are happy.  We all miss him, but I know your John is looking down and smiling at your happiness.” _

Your words stopped coming for Tom’s benefit as you watched Jason be happy for you.  He looked at your face, devoid of color, and your chest, rising and falling more quickly than it had been.

_ “You ok?” _

You shook your head with a tiny, quiet side-to-side nod as the rest of the table looked at you.  The lack of movement and voices and energy clued Tom in that something was wrong. As he looked at you with concern, you assured him you were fine, scooted to the edge of the seat, and hurriedly excused yourself to the restroom.  You were gone from the table no more than one minute after Jason started his speech.

Tom looked at Jason and pointed to your path, asking what happened with only an expression.  Other hearing people at the table took over signing for him and voicing for the others. Jason started where he left off.

_ “I’m not sure.” _

“I don’t think so, she was fine, then you mentioned someone looking down at her, seeing how happy she is, and she just stopped translating.”  Jason took a deep breath in and out, trilling his lips and shutting his eyes for a minute. He looked at Tom and nodded, before signing.

_ “Shit.  Yes, John.  Her husband.” _

Now it was Tom’s turn to stop cold.  “I’m sorry, what? She’s married?” Thoughts rushed through his brain that didn’t add up.   _ Now _ a headache was upon him.  He shook his head and looked at Jason again, a table full of people following his every move with their eyes.

_ “She WAS married, yes.  John was another one of our roommates, my best friend.  A little while after they graduated and moved into their own place, he got sick.  He was gone too soon.” _

Tom was reeling.  He had known you for all of a few days, you didn’t owe him your life’s story, but your reaction to Jason’s comment had him wondering how recent this loss was, how much you were still hurting.  He stood, ready to check on you, when you walked up, coat and bag in hand. Jason got to you first and no one translated.

_ “Oh my God love I am so so sorry, please believe me.  I never meant to upset you, to hurt you.” _

_ “I know you didn’t, J.  I’m surprised how hard it hit me.  I think I should go back to the hotel.” _

_ “Let me go with you.”  _ and he turned to grab his coat.  You banged your hand on the table to get his attention.

_ “No.  I want to be alone.”   _ He looked at you, hurt on his face.  You smiled weakly and assured him nothing was going to happen to you, that you just wanted to sit with your feelings for awhile, alone.

_ “Let me say goodnight to everyone.  Please stay and enjoy yourself. For me.”  _ You waved to everyone who understood what you had just said and turned to Tom, who was standing in wait with his coat over his arm.

“Let’s go, darling.  I’ll get you back to the hotel.” As kind as that was, you needed to be alone with your memories, sit with your feelings, and move on.  You couldn’t do that while trying to make other people feel comfortable with your sadness. You asked him to walk you out, but then asked for what you needed - time alone.  You kissed his cheek and softly apologized for how the evening ended, slipping into the cab and closing your eyes as you drove away.

Tom watched you drive away, quickly thanked everyone, and made his exit.  He’d planned to take you to see the World War II Memorial, he’d been told it was a beautiful thing to see at night, but instead was  thinking about your face, how hurt and sad you were, and wondered how he could help,  _ if _ you would let him help.

**Tom:** I hope you find your peace tonight, darling.

**You:** Thank you Tom.  I hope so, too.

**Tom:** Can I check in on you later?

**You:** Maybe tomorrow? I think I’ll go to bed early.

**Tom:** Of course.  I have your number ;)


	4. Absence Makes the Heart....

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of your best friends are getting married and you have the honor of singing at their wedding. At the reception you’re approached by a famous friend of the groom, Tom Hiddleston. Much polite flirting ensues. 
> 
> In this chapter, you and Tom say goodbye, but will you get to say hello again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Thank you so much for your time, your kind words, and all the good stuff you send my way! I am loving this fic now, and though this chapter took me a long time to start, it flowed once I did. This chapter had a rough start, but then once I just wrote, no filtering, it came to me. Of course, that meant a hella lot of editing, but that’s sorta my jam. :)

 

The sun rose.  You opened your eyes again and the world was still turning.  You felt sore - an unhappy reunion with the heartache at the memory of your late husband, John. Then, “they” kicked in. Your emotional coping mechanisms you learned and practiced after the worst thing you never thought you would survive - the process of feeling, accepting, and getting to the other side of pain or sadness or hurt.  Last night it was sadness, when Jason mentioned John in his toast, you felt your worlds collide - old and new, aching and healed, before and after. 

A deep breath, a mindful mantra, and your feet were on the floor, ready to return to the present.  Before you reached the door handle to to get some fresh air (and a croissant, if truth be told), you spotted an envelope just inside your door and crossed your fingers.

                                                Darling, I didn’t want to bother you but I wanted you to know I

                                                hope you’re well.  I can’t assume to understand what you’re going

                                                through tonight, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here, anytime.  I’m in 

                                                room 1008 on the top floor and I’ve made sure anyone who needs to 

                                                know will let you up.  

 

                                                I also wanted to let you know that I’m leaving tomorrow night.  I’m 

                                                starting rehearsal for a new play in London and the producers called last 

                                                night to let me know the cast has to do early press day after next.  I don’t leave

                                                until 10pm, so if you were so inclined to see me tomorrow, I’d love to.   

 

                                                Again, don’t hesitate to be in touch if you need a shoulder, an ear, or any part 

                                                of me that could lend you comfort or support.  That sounded quite lecherous, 

                                                but hopefully you know I don’t mean it that way.

                                                Best, Tom

Without thinking, you double-checked for your keys and phone and made your way to the 10th floor.  You had to request access but once you gave your name, you were waved through. Your nerves flitted when you knocked, but quickly dissipated when Tom answered and pulled you in for a warm hug, which you eagerly absorbed.  You took a tiny step back and held his hands in yours.

“Thank you for the letter.”  His smile was soft and sweet, his eyes holding concern and care, silently saying the right things.  Your breath was normal as you stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. “Would you like to have breakfast with me?”

His feet stayed where they were while he pulled you so subtly your bodies touched and you hadn’t recalled moving.  His forehead landed lightly against yours and you closed your eyes as he whispered.

“I would love to, but I have another idea.  What would you think about staying in today?” You slowly opened your eyes to see his smile, inviting and beautiful, and had no doubts about agreeing.  He stepped back towards the living area, encouraged you to follow, and called for room service after asking for your favorites.

Among breakfast, movies, lunch, and packing you laughed and talked and kissed and laughed some more.  As the day ended, you laid your head on his shoulder and watched the sunset through the unending windows that encircled the suite’s front room, and breathed in and out in time with the rise and fall of his chest.  His peaceful silence felt like an invitation.

“He was my first real love - John.” Tom quickly assured you that you didn’t have to speak about it, but you assured right back that it didn’t hurt, it was more like a needle prick, to share this part of your life.

“There was happiness and fun and joy and love.  Experiencing wholehearted acceptance and desire was soul-changing.  He helped me feel worthy, sexy, smart, and perfect for him in almost every way.”  You laughed at the absurd memories of your fights, usually about dirty socks or forgotten to-do lists.

All of Tom’s attention was focused on you, and he seemed to think carefully before speaking.

“He was a smart man who also happened to be incredibly lucky.  I’m a bit envious, to be honest.” You lifted your head up and placed your hand on his cheek and kissed him gently.

“I’m telling you because you don’t need to be.  After John died, I was adrift, disassociative, locked out of life and locked inside my hurt.  Thank God for my family and friends checking on me, supporting me, helping me stay as healthy as possible.  I did every passive thing I could to stop feeling. I didn’t sleep, didn’t eat, didn’t take my medicine - if it hadn’t been for Jason, Tina, my parents and siblings and John’s family, too, I know I wouldn’t be here.”

His next kiss was intimate, slow, and felt different.  “I am grateful to them and to you for fighting to stay.  Sometimes it’s easier not to.” You both sighed at that truth, each with your own quiet examples that did not need to be spoken.

You were hesitant to think about the end of this perfect day, but it arrived nonetheless.  He pulled you to your feet and hugged you, filling you with warmth and comfort.

“Walk me to the lobby?” You nodded and stood back as he gathered up his bag and backpack, checked for his keys and phone, and closed the door.   The ride downstairs was silent, but not sad. As you walked out into the lobby, your giggle made him stop, turn, and raise his eyebrows. Your blush was as much from embarrassment as it was from the wine, the kissing, and the late hour.

“We were alone in the elevator, about to reach our destination where we part ways after an emotional experience.”  Laughter left your lips in waves, suddenly finding your own thought hilarious. Again, wine + late hour + swoony kissing = tipsy in more ways than one.  Tom remained stymied. It took him a minute, but he lit up when he got it.

“You’re talking about a stop-the-elevator-with-the-emergency-button-and-make out scene, aren’t you?”  You could barely pull in a breath, but you nodded vigorously.

“I’ve filmed one of those.  Pretty hot, I’d say.” You straightened up, wiped the laughing tears away, and kept walking to the front entrance.  He caught up with one step of those ridiculously long legs and pulled your arm so he could whisper to you. “Next time.”  Shivers ran down your neck and back and you grinned at the idea.

Your goodbye hug was warm, but quick.  You weren’t great at lingering or awkward farewells and you’d had enough emotional upheaval to last awhile.  You wished him the best with the play and thanked him for the last week, and he reciprocated in kind. Addresses were exchanged and inter-continental communication promised.  He slid smoothly into the backseat after giving you one last kiss, and off he went.

You walked back to your room, soon asleep after a wonderful day you would not soon forget.  You woke up a bit sad, but eager to do your last bit of sightseeing and friend visits before returning to the real world.  As you confirmed your plans, you were startled by a knock at the door and the hotel employee who held an exquisite arrangement of your favorite flowers.  The card did not disappoint.

                                   To thank you for being you, with me, for the last week.  

                                   To thank you for your laugh, your joy, your realness.

                                   To thank you for enlightening me, showing me new things that astounded.

                                   To thank you for making me miss you, as soon as I left you.

                                   To ask you not to forget, as I am unable to.

                                   -Tom

One of the biggest sighs you ever heard made it past your lips.  A quick picture taken and you were texting away, though it was almost 9pm in London and you had no idea when you’d hear back.  Or if.

 **You:** The flowers are gorgeous, thank you.  The card was a romantic’s dream.

**Tom:** Would you consider yourself a romantic?

**You:**  Hey! I did not think I’d get you in real time.  Deep down, yes, I’m a romantic. How about you?

**Tom:** I’ll let the card answer that question. ;)

**You:** He he he.  How are you? You must be exhausted. 

**Tom:** We just finished the press junket for the day, and I’m about to sleep for 24 hours.  At least. I came right off the plane to work.

**You:** I’m sorry to keep you from your pillow, but I wanted to tell you how much I appreciated your thoughtfulness and excellent taste - the flowers are perfect and the card - well, let’s just say my ancestors will swoon when they find it among my things. :)

**You:** Goodnight, Tom.  

 

Before your heart could skip another beat, an unknown London number came up.  Since you knew exactly one person who was there, you took a chance and picked up.

“You’re most welcome.  I just wanted you to know I was thinking of you.”  A long, loud yawn punctuated the ensuing silence.

“Thank you, Tom.  As always, you’re a paragon of politeness.”  You giggled at your alliteration but quickly got a flood of warm prickles across your skin when he responded.

“I wasn’t going for polite.”  You had to keep up the volley with the only question you could think of, and his answer did not disappoint.

“I was going for honest.  I wanted to make sure you knew that every moment together last week was real for me, as I hope it was for you.”  You must have been quiet longer than he expected, as he checked to make sure you were still on the line. You went with the first thing that came to mind.

“You hit every note, every day - warm, fun, and most definitely real.”

When there was more silence than talking, you said goodnight with wishes of sweet dreams and promises for tomorrow.

__________________________________

The return to work filled your days and early evenings, while rehearsals, press, and post-production work for films already shot filled his.  You texted or emailed in the mornings and afternoons, but thanks to the 4-hour time difference, had the most luck talking while you ate dinner and he was winding down from his day.  Your conversations recapped the day but ran deeper, into the dreams, hopes, aspirations, hurts, and passions you both experienced. Each time you hung up you felt emptied of anything false and filled with a growing sense of calm excitement .  It was hard for you to trust that feeling, knowing that life’s strong hands can pull the snuggest rug out from under you without a lick of provocation, but the more you shared, the safer you felt.

_________________________________

The work was brilliant.  Pinter was a genius playwright and this was Tom’s chance to go back to his home, the stage.  Zawe and Charlie and him were on stage for the entire play - no intermission and no hiding. Everything was out there - raw, painful, still.  Rehearsals were paying off and looking really really well - it was just what he needed. But.

After one week back at work, he was surprised how regularly he thought of you, someone he just met.  The days were a blur of car rides, rehearsals, ADR for his newest film, press, and trying to sneak in some time with his family given they were in the same country, for once.  It was exhausting, but he found himself wanting to know how you were, wanting to hear your laugh and do so right along with you, wanting to hug and hold and kiss all the soft and strong places he knew held equal shares within you.  He loved seeing your texts and more so, your responses when he hit just the right note - be it silly, serious, or sexy.

Each night, around the same time, he’d call when he got home, usually getting you at dinner.  At first, you apologized for what you called “dull days” compared to his, but he would not hear that and it guided things towards deeper, more serious discussions about everything from world news, work, and family, to hopes, dreams, and fears.  The conversations nourished him, excited him, made him yearn for more. More than he could have with an ocean between you.

______________________________________

“I wish you were here, darling.” You hadn’t heard that level of frustration in his voice before.  

“Are you alright? You sound different.  Everything ok?” His smile was soft as he laid in bed, listening to your kindness and missing being near enough to kiss you as thanks.

“I’m alright and not at the same time and in the interest of creating more confusion, I’m only partly sure why.”  Another long breath out and silence.

“I’m here if you want to talk about it, but if you don’t, I have a funny story from today that might help you feel better.”  You started talking about a student trying to hide something in his locker to surprise a teammate after school but accidentally left it in the bathroom and the principal was walking by when he spoke.

“I know why now.”  You could do nothing but wait.

“I want to be near you.  I want to hold that luscious, sexy body of yours and show you how much you’ve come to mean to me.  I want to feel and see your laugh, not just hear it. I want to see you without your glasses and push those strands of errant hair out of the way so I can kiss you senseless.”

Nothing.  Crickets. Sweat began to drip off his head while his heart hammered with the idea that he’d offended you, that he’d been too frank, that…..

“I want the same thing, Tom.”  He didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until you spoke and a new one filled his lungs.  “But I don’t think it’s possible right now. Maybe after the play closes?”

That wasn’t good enough.  Not nearly good enough, but Tom was ready to call in every favor if it meant seeing you.

“I can’t leave London, but why don’t you let me buy you a ticket? Maybe you could take a few days off?” Something felt wrong as soon as the words left his mouth.  Your tone of voice was new and not one he wanted to hear on a regular basis.

“No, I can’t accept that kind of gift. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and generosity, but if I can’t afford it on my own, I can’t go.  I’m sorry not to see you, but that’s how I feel.” He sat up in bed, suddenly aware that a button had been pushed, and stammered out an apology that was quickly accepted but just-as-quickly followed by your goodnight.

________________________________

Did you overreact? You knew Tom offered so you could see each other - you both wanted that.  He could certainly afford it, and you couldn’t, and you would have done the same thing if the places had been reversed.  So why the meltdown?

You didn’t want to be indebted to anyone.  Yes, the ol’ trust issues reared their ugly head and made accepting a gift of this size impossible.  You knew Tom offered from a place of sincerity and caring, but what if? What if something changed while you were there and you were beholden to him to get home? What if the week you had together was a fluke, the chemistry misunderstood, the attraction based on circumstances rather than connection?  You needed help.

You and Tom met at the wedding of your good friends, Beth and Peter, aka, The Marrieds.  They were the only people that knew both of you, so you reached out to get an objective opinion.  Being lawyers, your long-time friends, and smug-as-hell show-offs because you and Tom had hit it off at their wedding, made them experts on the subject of you (in their minds).

FaceTiming with them was an event.  The two of them jockeying for position in front of the camera, interrupting each other, and finally listening when you threatened to hang up.  After your synopsis there was no loss for opinions or admonitions about how you were letting your pride get in the way of being happy. You couldn’t really refute that, but dammit if you weren’t going to try.  

“Guys, I hear you, but I don’t think I’m wrong for wanting to pay for things myself.  I also don’t want Tom to think I’m taking advantage of his generosity - kind of a slippery slope, if you know what I mean?”

“Nope, we don’t.”  Apparently, Beth had been elected the spokesperson for both of them.  You laughed after asking them if marriage had fused their brains together and stony silence was their response.

“I mean, what if it’s a ticket now, then a stay at a hotel, then a Jaguar, then a house and then I’m a kept woman and I’ve turned into Rebecca from the du Maurier novel.” You bust a gut laughing at the absurdity of that statement, but returned to the reason you called after you calmed down.

“I just feel wrong about it.  Whether it’s because I don’t want to rely on someone to buy things for me, or because it doesn’t feel right to accept such an extravagant gift, it doesn’t matter.  It does not reflect my feelings, just my need to be independent.” There you go. Once you said that, out loud, your tension and stress around the issue floated away, leaving you in peace.  Shortly after you wrapped up the call and made another one.

Looking at the time, he would most likely be at the theater, but you needed to tell him.  The voice message you were going to leave was practiced and ready. As the phone kept ringing, you inhaled before leaving it but started coughing when a live voice answered.

“Darling wait, don’t hang up.  Give me a moment, please.” Clunking muffled noises punctuated by “great rehearsal,” and “have a good evening” preceded Tom’s return.  

“Are you still at the theatre?  I was fully prepared to leave a message, I know you’re working.”  His reassurances were quick and sweet. He spoke words that sounded like the start of an apology, but you interrupted.

“I’m sorry I ended our call so abruptly last night.  I was caught off guard and I did not react graciously, and for that, I’m sorry.”  You listened to his breathing, in and of itself a comfort. “I overreacted and in my attempt to figure out why, I called Beth and Peter to get an objective opinion.”  His boisterous laugh surprised you.

“Were you successful in getting that unbiased perspective?”  You had to smile because he clearly knew it was a fool’s errand, which you confirmed, but you had one more thing to get off your chest.

“I called to tell you I appreciate your offer, but I cannot accept it, in good conscience.  I thank you, but I’m not at a place where I can feel comfortable about such an extravagant gift.  I hope you can understand.” He sighed and you could have sworn you heard him say something but you didn’t quite catch it.  You said your piece in the way you wish you would have the night before, and he was still at work, so you readied your goodbye when he started talking.

“I didn't mean to offend, I hope you know.  The offer was born out of missing you and wanting to see you and not wanting to wait.  I am sorry if it was interpreted as a means of controlling you or making you indebted to me in some way.”  You couldn’t have asked for more. You both acknowledged the other’s viewpoints, apologized, and you considered it resolved, which you expressed in exactly those words, and clicked off feeling good.  

_______________________________

Now that was different.  A woman he was attracted to and wanted to spend more time with would not accept a gift from him.  He was pissed when she refused, worried when they didn’t talk, and understanding once they had. Guess he’d have to employ one of his weakest skills - patience.  Something - instinct, gut feeling, mojo - told him she was worth waiting for.  
_________________________________

That night, instead of talking, you got to work on a personal project you’d been putting off.  A pile of pictures had laid in a box, under your bed, since you moved. When you put them in sequence and tucked the last one into the now-finished album, you felt complete.  As you looked over the pictures of you and John with and without dear friends and family, you felt peaceful. When you put the book away, grabbed your laptop and credit card and began to investigate flights and hotel prices, there was nothing but giddy excitement.  

  
  
  



	5. Yes, You May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of your best friends are getting married and you have the honor of singing at their wedding. At the reception you’re approached by a famous friend of the groom, Tom Hiddleston. Much polite flirting ensues. Here’s the “more to come.” Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Thank you so much for your time, your kind words, and all the good stuff you send my way! I am loving this fic now, and though this chapter took me a long time to start, it flowed once I did. This chapter had a rough start, but then once I just wrote, no filtering, it came to me. Of course, that meant a hella lot of editing, but that’s sorta my jam. :)

_Now that was different.  A woman he was attracted to and wanted to spend more time with would not accept a gift from him.  He was pissed when she refused, worried when they didn’t talk, and understanding once they had. Guess he’d have to employ one of his weakest skills - patience.  Something - instinct, gut feeling, mojo - told him she was worth waiting for._

___________________________________

_That night, instead of talking, you got to work on a personal project you’d been putting off.  A pile of pictures had been in a box, under your bed, since you moved. When you put them in sequence and tucked the last one into the now-finished album, you felt complete.  As you looked over the pictures of you and John with and without dear friends and family, you felt peaceful. When you put the book away, grabbed your laptop and credit card and began to investigate flights and hotel prices, there was nothing but giddy excitement._

Giddy morphed into deeply-rooted nervousness as you proceeded through customs at Heathrow.  Within a few days you were able to secure a flight and a place to stay in London that didn’t break the bank _and_ keep all the plans secret - you took that as a sign you were doing the right thing.  You were disappointed that opening night tickets for Tom’s new play, “Betrayal,” were sold out, but you were able to secure good seats to the Saturday evening performance, which gave you a bit of time to get dolled up and obsess about everything.  You were almost certain that Tom would be ecstatic, but a tiny voice poked through your surety and planted insidious seedlings.

__________________________________

The dressing room was filled with flowers and well wishes.  Tom read each one and made sure his assistant knew to whom he should send thanks.  Reading your note was different - he couldn’t pass it on. It filled him with an urge to see you, to nuzzle your neck, holding your luscious body to his.  Goddamnit, this was harder than he thought it’d be. A quick “Thank you, love” text later, and the 5-minute-til-curtain announcement pulled him into the world of the show.

_________________________________

You read the text thanking you for the flowers, and felt ridiculously proud.  You obviously hadn’t given anything away, even remembering to tell him you couldn’t speak on the phone for the day you’d be traveling, as you had “plans.”  You were impressed that your description of said plans was sufficiently believable so as not to prompt further inquiries. The day of the premiere you refused to let him think you forgot him, all the while itching to spring your surprise early.

________________________________

He was supercharged, high off the success of the first night.  There were the usual opening night slip ups, but nothing too major. The chemistry between the three actors was palpable and worked in his favor, as the anchor.  He wasn’t the sexy lothario in this one, he was the wronged husband. He wasn’t the betrayer, but the one who was betrayed, and it felt fucking phenomenal. But….he missed you.  Missed talking and catching up at night. Missed hearing that little gasp when you answered. Missed the way your voice washed over him, soothed him. He was beyond grateful to his friends and family for showing up, and between the show and the after party it was an extremely satisfying and happy night.  Now, at home, alone, when you’d usually be talking, he felt your absence. When his text alert sounded after a brief repose from the lovely congratulations and messages of support, he wasn’t expecting what he read.

 **You:** Congratulations!!! I wanted to let you know I was thinking of you and wishing I was there.

 **Tom:** Thank you darling, that means a lot.

 **You:** Do you want to tell me how it went? I understand if you’re exhausted and can’t, but I am very eager to hear how brilliant you were.

Tom was always surprised how good it felt to receive your compliments.  They were sincere and sweet and sometimes exaggerated, but he never doubted you meant them.

 **Tom:** I am a bit tired, but I’ll say that I was quite pleased.  Zawe and Charlie were brilliant and the audience reacted in all the right places.  I remembered my lines and no one fell off the stage, so a good first night.

 **You:** I’m sure you were all amazing, I’m so happy things went as you’d hoped.  I snuck outside to text you, so I’ve got to get back. Just wanted to let you know you were on my mind.

 **Tom:** Thank you, love.  You are often on my mind.  I do wish you were here, but I understand why you can’t be.  Watch for the reviews online, ok?

Tom drifted off after saying goodnight, but you were wound up, thinking about the next day and hoping it would be as well received as his first-night performance.

___________________________________

When the nerves hit, they hit hard.  As your hair was coiffed, your makeup applied, and your leather jacket draped over your black-and-silver outfit, you liked what you saw. The opening-night reviews had been glowing, and your ticket was already worth more than what you paid for it. Honestly, seeing the production was a lucky byproduct of traveling to see Tom, but you had a hard time focusing on any of it as you cabbed it to the theatre and were shown to your seat.

A million scenarios ran through your head.  Would he see you from the stage? (You were close but not that close).  Would you text him and give him an obliquely-worded hint? (He didn’t look at his phone during the show).  Would you wait for him to exit the theatre at the stage door? (God, these hypotheticals were making you nauseous. Enough.). As the curtain rose to more-than-polite applause, you felt your smile growing as Tom made his entrance and immediately owned the stage.

He was magnificent.  He used his body, his voice - everything he had to transform into the character, to become a completely believable cuckold who was stripped of loyalty from and to the woman he once loved and the friend he once held dear.  Your nerves were gone as you forgot about Tom and just saw his character, Robert. You’d experienced live theatre before, but never like this. Your heart broke for the characters, you wished they could experience their lives in the moment - with raw, real emotion instead of being so….reserved, so….closed off.  

When the final line was spoken and the audience stood and roared its approval for the cast, you continued to think about Tom’s power, his talent, and how much you wanted to experience it first hand, in every way possible.  The show was an aphrodisiac, filling your mind with possibilities and fantasies and your body with jolts of electricity. As the ushers encouraged people to exit, you took out your phone without hesitation.

 **You:** Tom, you were magnificent tonight.  You were raw and powerful and sexy and commanding.  Thank you for being as good at your job as you are, it was a wonderful evening.

You didn’t expect a response, at least not immediately, so you grabbed a drink and some dinner at a nearby pub, thought about the show, and returned to your hotel, lit up with excitement, enjoyment, and expectation.  The clock was taunting you, keeping you mindful of each minute after the time Tom usually texted. You took an almost-hot shower, washing the beautifying lacquer off your hair and face and body, which helped settle you, and flipped through the TV channels, unable to remember anything you saw.

Then.  Your alert tone.

 **Tom:**????? Did you see the reviews????

 **You:** Yes, I read them last night as you suggested - congratulations to the entire cast and crew - you were all roundly lauded.  After tonight, I can see why.

 **Tom:**  Wait…..

You weren’t surprised when the ringer went off as you started typing.

“Are you saying you were at the show tonight? My show? In London?”  You had to smile at his increasingly specific criterion, ensuring that you and he referred to the same place and event.

“Yes.  Tonight.  Your show.  London. It was unbelievable, Tom.”  Waiting for him to speak felt interminable.  You heard him breathe at the other end of the line, and would’ve missed what he said next if you hadn’t focused intently and shut off every other nearby source of noise.

“Didn’t you want to see me afterwards?” You gasped your answer.

“Of course I did, but it’s not like security would have let me backstage, and this isn’t like a 1920’s opera house where I could send a handwritten note by courier, alerting you to my presence - you told me your phone is off until you leave the theatre.” You heard doors closing, clicks, and street noise.

“Where do I tell the driver to go?”

_________________________________________

She was here, in London.  She saw the show tonight and she loved it.  She said he was sexy and raw and powerful. For the second time tonight, his adrenaline raced.  As soon as he read her text, deliberate thought vanished with just her in its place.

_________________________________________

The nerves were back, but this time with a giddy edge.  You considered changing back into your super cute theatre outfit, but decided real was better, and real was you in your pajamas with wavy hair at your shoulders and no makeup.  Well, maybe a smear of clear lip gloss and deodorant, just to make sure.

_________________________________________

 **Tom:** I’m here

 **You:** Room 607

Your breath caught when he knocked, hard.  His head was down, his hands in pockets as you looked through the peephole and unlocked the deadbolt.

You stared.  He stared back, through you, his eyes predatory, his body tense.  

“May I come in?” you both chuckled at him having to ask.  You looked down as you reached for his hand and followed his movement as he kissed it.  You walked backwards until you were far enough inside to close the door and silently hugged him, feeling his chin find its way to your shoulder as your hand ran through his curls.  His arms encircled your lower back with a strength that made you feel so safe, helped you know you were in the right place. His whispers sent shivers down your spine.

“You’re here. I can’t believe you’re here.” He laid tiny pecks along the top of your shoulder and shifted so they could trail up your neck and behind your ears.  “I missed you so much, darling. I could scarcely admit it to myself, but you knew.”

Your hands laced behind his neck as you smiled into his kiss.  You expected passionate groping, but this was soft, sweet, tender.  

You walked him over to the couch, “I missed you, too.  All the steps to get here just sort of happened, so I went with it.”  He smiled, his long fingers lightly brushing along your forehead, randomly dropping delicate kisses along the way, the whisper giving way to a grumbling rasp.  “I’m glad you went with it.”

You turned around and leaned over the back of the couch, your arm outstretched.  You giggled when his arms remained around your middle; his lips intermittently kissing your neck.  When he spotted what you were holding, the famous Cheshire Cat Tom Hiddleston smize lit up his entire face before pulling you in for a kiss that left you breathless.

“Want an autograph?” Your red face may have darkened another shade as he gently took it the Playbill from your hand.

“Actually, this is for you.”  His forehead reactively scrunched up and his laugh softened as you pulled him to sit with you. His face held questions until he realized what was inside - a sort-of scrapbook of your journey to get to that moment - mini pictures of you holding your ticket on the way from the US, going all touristy in London, and smiling while kissing the cheek of the huge poster of him outside the theatre.  He closed it and, without looking away, found your hand, lacing his fingers between yours. You turned the program over so he could read your words and watched as he read, sighed, and closed his eyes.

After a moment, you bent forward and raised your eyes in a silent question.  When his opened, tears balanced on the lower lids. You quickly placed your hands on his cheek and kissed him.

“Thank you, darling.  This is something my ancestors will swoon over when they find it among my most prized treasures.”  You laughed - at his memory for your conversations, at his sentiment, at his sweetness. You leaned back and encouraged him to put his head on your lap, where you sat peaceably, your fingers running through his curls and his absentmindedly running over your thighs, while you talked and laughed, ate takeout and kissed.

 

“Darling, wake up, come to bed.”  You were disoriented when Tom gently shook you awake and offered you his hand.  The room was dark and you weren’t yet familiar enough to navigate to the bedroom without a light.  You yelped when your feet and legs were run through with pins and needles, but eventually they subsided and you sank into the king-size bed, Tom pulling the covers over you and kissing your forehead.  That woke you up.

“Tom, please stay.  Please, there’s plenty of room and I think we’re both sufficiently tired to guarantee no funny business.  I give you my word I won’t make any untoward advances.” Even in the dark you could see his grin, and were relieved when he slipped back from the bathroom with his shorts and t-shirt on, keeping at least an arms length between you.  After a whispered “good night,” he was asleep, while you were very much awake with decidedly untoward thoughts running through your head.

 

You must have fallen asleep, because the streaming sunlight and your bladder were prompting your eyes to open and your body to get out of bed.  Tom slept, his face peaceful, his arm reaching out towards you. Morning business done, you started the electric tea kettle and bundled up in a sweater on the couch, looking out onto London.  

“What a beautiful sight to wake up to.”  You smiled to yourself as Tom made himself a cup of Earl Grey and sat down next to you, placing a kiss on your cheek.  You pulled your feet under you and fell in next to him, reveling in the warmth from his arm holding you close and his kisses on the top of your head.  The silence was easy and companionable, but it masked your jitters and edginess and awkwardness. Welcome back to your usual trifecta of feelings when you were uncomfortable.

You gently extricated yourself and stood close to the window, looking down at the big bustling city and sighed.  You didn’t notice him cross to the same window until he put a hand on your shoulder and gently turned you to face him.  

“It’s a bit early in the day to be sighing, dearest.  You ok?”

You were ok, really, but your small smile didn’t convince him of that.  You tried to sell it in the face of his unbelieving look.

“Yes, just tired I think.  All the traveling, excitement to surprise you, seeing you, the play….I could go on.” You couldn’t say what you were thinking, couldn’t tell him - clingy didn’t look good on anyone, so you tried walking away but he held firm, pulling you in for a languid, dreamy kiss.  Your sigh was different, this time full of satisfaction and pleasure. His eyes found yours as you practically glowed.

“Can I try one more tactic to solve this mystery?”  You face belied your suspicion, but you nodded your consent, irregardless.

He took your face in his hands and kissed you more passionately than he ever had while he walked his hands under the waistband of your pajamas.  His long fingers spread across the expanse of your ass, squeezing, rubbing, and eliciting a long, low moan. Your back arched as your arms circled tighter around his shoulders, unwilling to let him loose.  When you broke apart for oxygen, he walked you backwards towards the bedroom.

You stood at the end of the bed, unable to get each others’ clothes off fast enough - your nightshirt flew across the room, his pants were kicked away, until you were in your undies and he only his boxers.  His eyes raked over you with laser precision, not missing a roll or dimple or bump. All you felt was fire - alive, hot, and burning, through every part of you. You reached out for him, wrapping his arms around your back to unclasp your bra and then standing pressed to each other, skin to skin, unable to stop what was going to happen.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He had to ask twice before your brain registered words, and you were so damn hot from him kissing down your body, before you were both naked, you could barely formulate coherent speech.  You pulled him up and kissed him hard, pushing his boxers down while shimmying out of your boy shorts. In between urgent panting breaths, you gave the abbreviated version, before laying down on the bed and watching him prowl up your body, maximizing how much of his skin touched yours.  It didn’t matter, it wasn’t ever going to be enough.

You threw your head back, lifting your body off the bed, the sight of Tom staring through you increasing your arousal by the second.  He started to move off the bed, your protests making him smile while he pulled a condom out of his pants pocket. Before he could open it, you motioned him to travel back up your body.  When he stopped too early you scooted down so his engorged dick was directly over your mouth. You gently held the base, twisting and applying pressure as you moved up and down, feeling the rhythmic pulse of the vein running from root to tip as it bulged in your hand.

_______________________________________

Tom could not believe he was in her room, on her bed.  She was here with him, in London, because she wanted to be - no coercion, no false pretenses, just her quiet confidence in her feelings.  Whatever those feelings were, they were more than reciprocated. She captivated him, from her glee at the surprise, to the scrapbook, to the inscription - they made his heart practically jump out of his chest; he could not believe his luck.  When she opened the door, he _wanted_ to hold her, _wanted_ to kiss her and tell her sweet things she should hear every day of her life, and _wanted_ to be with her in any way she wanted.

Though he wouldn’t have predicted falling asleep together, fully clothed, on the couch in a hotel room, as the way the night would end, it was perfect.  They didn’t hold back, just did what felt right at the moment, and it worked. When he woke and heard her quietly singing in the living area, his heart lit up before he even opened his eyes, and when he saw her watching his city, having a cuppa, he was reminded of what attracted him in the first place.  She was peace. She was light. He hoped she was his.

Right now, though, she was under him giving him what may have been the best blow job he had ever experienced.  He kneeled above her face, clenching every muscle below the waist, but as she grabbed his ass and worked him with her mouth, it became increasingly difficult to stay still.  

“Darling, darling, stop.”  As painful as it was - literally - he sat back on his haunches, popping out of her mouth.  He looked at her swollen lips, lusty eyes, and tore open the condom and rolled it on, no fluffing needed. He felt “it” - the desire for everything about her, everything she was, flood his senses.  He could only do one thing, let her feel him, feel how much he felt for her.

_______________________________________

You scooted back to the head of the bed and couldn’t help but run your hands over your full tear-drop breasts, your torso covered in a landscape of lines you were once ashamed of but now knew were your prizes for living and surviving.  Tom’s face was...different. He leaned forward over you, capturing your lips in a kiss so simple, so pure while encouraging you to get ready for him to be inside - the only place you wanted him to be.

As he broke the kiss you warned him how loud you could get.

“Guess I’ll have to think of ways to keep that pretty mouth busy, then.”  He nudged your legs wider apart, and proved what a good man he was.

“Do you want this, my love? Do you want me?” It was unfathomable to you that he might think you didn’t, but you gave your consent faster than you thought possible, kissing him in appreciation.

“Yes, please, I’m so ready, I need you so badly baby.”  With his forehead leaning against yours he used his tremendous strength to hold himself up on his forearms while he slid inside.  He was surprised when he didn’t need to slowly inch in, that you were able to take him in without pain, and ask for more, faster, harder almost immediately.

He started rocking back and forth, holding the headboard while following your every command.  You both knew there was no way you would hold back for long, and neither of you wanted to. Within half a dozen strokes, he was so close he could cry, and your entire body felt like lava, completely molten and unable to cool.  You wanted nothing more than to yell out you could not take another second without coming, and he knew. He leaned in, rasping out all the encouragement you needed to let go and cum furiously all over his cock, immediately pulling him with you over the edge.

If it was possible to feel like lead and air at the same time, you were there.  Your body hadn’t been fucked that gloriously in a very long time, and it filled you with an afterglow that anyone would see, but also with the need for sleep.  To sleep, perchance to dream of this wonderful man breathing deeply beside you, watching you adoringly, and wanting nothing more than to stay right where he was for as long as you wanted him.  

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two of your best friends are getting married and you have the honor of singing at their wedding. At the reception you’re approached by a famous friend of the groom, Tom Hiddleston. Much polite flirting ensues. Here’s the “more to come.” Enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y’all! Thank you so much for your time, your kind words, and all the good stuff you send my way! I am grateful to all of you on A03 and Tumblr that have taken time to write some wonderful comments on this fic. It seems that I’m in a good groove writing this right now, so I’m going to keep on until the muse says to stop. :)

_ If it was possible to feel like lead and air at the same time, you were there.  Your body hadn’t been pleased that gloriously in a very long time, and it filled you with an afterglow that anyone would see, but also with the need for sleep.  To sleep, perchance to dream of this wonderful man breathing deeply beside you, watching you adoringly, and wanting nothing more than to stay right where he was for as long as you wanted him.   _

_______________________________________

You slowly turned from your right to left side, deliciously fulfilled and sore.  The sight of a sleeping Tom, all stretched out and peaceful made your tummy flip like it had gone down the steep side of a roller coaster.  You quietly slipped out from under the covers and brought your sweatshirt and boy shorts into the bathroom. With teeth brushed, hair tamed, and basics done, you cracked open the bathroom door and smiled when you found Tom sitting up against the headboard, checking his phone, which he immediately put down as he got out of bed.

You were secure in your self-concept, but you did not have to regularly get naked in front of a camera or an audience.  Tom’s confidence as he walked towards you without clothes but with a predatory grin made you blush. He cupped your face in his hands and kissed you so well that you couldn’t help but moan.  Your hands worked their way from his waist to his back, all defined muscle and strength, pulling him closer, as his hands worked their way under your sweatshirt.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Your sassiness and wink changed his expression from chastised to confident in a second.  He planted a kiss on your forehead and excused himself, grabbing his shorts and shirt before ducking into the bathroom. You took a deep breath and tried to get your mind to focus - on anything.  The very fresh memory of sex with Tom blotted everything else out, making that task impossible. The view from another window called you over, and you got lost in the busy streets, the constant noise and moving parts, the fog and mist that seemed in permanent residence.  Hearing your name, you turned and smiled at him in his boxer briefs and shirt, unbuttoned and his chest bare. He held out a hand and you answered with yours, moving to sit at the edge of the bed. You weren’t sure if you were about to hear an “about that sex we just had” speech, so you braced yourself, ready just in case.

“We’ve got the entire day and night ahead of us, what shall we do?” 

All your efforts had been put towards keeping an even, neutral expression when he took his leave with a kiss and hug goodbye, which left little room for  _ actually _ listening to him.  You cocked your head - you must have looked surprised, because he immediately took both your hands in his and kissed them.

“What’s wrong, darling?” That snapped you out of your reverie and you answered him with a kiss to his hands, and then a soft one on his lips.

“No, not at all.  For some reason I felt like something bad was going to happen, like, “It’s been nice and all, but…” You found it hard to look at him, a blush streaking up your neck and jaw as you heated up with embarrassment.  He startled you again when he slid off the bed to kneel in front of you and reassured you, in no uncertain terms, that was the last thing on his mind. When you smiled, he stood and started dressing and you followed suit, talking out loud as you went.

“May I ask why we’re getting all dressed up for room service?” The chittering laugh and smile that reached across his face didn’t answer your question.  He waited a beat before he surprised you - again.

“Because, m’lady, we’re not partaking in room service tonight.  I’d like to offer you dinner at my flat, cooked by me, for you, with great affection.”  Your smile was shy but real as you quickly grabbed your outfit and ducked into the bathroom to apply makeup and fix your hair.  He followed you in and snaked his arms around your waist and kissed your neck, giving you goosebumps. He turned you away from the mirror, towards him, and gently pulled the brush from your hand, placing it on the vanity.

“Would you consider packing up and staying there with me?  You’re flying out Tuesday, so that would give us another 36 hours, minus the time I’m at work.”  You were so touched, but that independent streak reared its ugly head. This time, you ignored its warning and remembered you were in London of your own free will and didn’t have anything else to prove.  Your nod had him kissing you hard, helping you pack your small suitcase and check out a day earlier than expected.

There was no shortage of photographers near his place, which had a noticeable effect on your nerves.  Any insecurities you had bubbled out, sans filter, voicing what you assume would be his fans’ reactions to him with a plus-size woman.  He listened without scoff or sarcasm and affirmed that there would be speculation, horrid name calling, and unflattering publicity, but that he’d already alerted his manager and PR team to make a statement if it got out of control.

“The only thing to truly consider is whether you’re willing to go through this with me.”  You had your doubts, certainly, but were willing to try - that was the most you could promise him at the moment, and apparently, that was enough.  He gave you some tips that have always helped him navigate the paparazzi maelstrom: don’t make eye contact, do your best to ignore the catcalls and questions, walk briskly but don’t run, and be as polite as possible.  He stepped into the fray first, and you heard him making polite small talk with the people around and signing autographs. In the lull of a quiet moment he opened the door, smiled encouragingly, and extended his hand to help you out.  When you stood next to him, he whispered how happy he was and shepherded you through the surprisingly small crowd. When you calmly entered the entryway and walked upstairs to his apartment, you admitted to yourself and him that it wasn’t as bad as you’d imagined.

He took inventory of his pantry and started throwing things together as a naturally talented cook might.  He shooed you away when you offered help, instead handing you a glass of wine and encouraging you to explore.  You let him know that being nosy got you in trouble more than a few times, but nevertheless, he offered you free reign of his house.  It was simple and lived in, without ostentatious displays full of awards or pictures of all the people he’d worked with. You looked at the pictures - friends and family you assumed - and the books he had lying in piles, chuckling when there were overlaps with ones you owned.  You were thumbing through his copy of  The Nightingale when footsteps announced his presence.

You spent dinner exclaiming over the food and delving deep into a discussion about the book he’d seen you pick up.  His insights were startling, and though you’d read the book several times, you re-examined some of your opinions based on his thoughts, which made him light up.  He insisted on leaving the dishes but you emphatically refused to listen, compromising by doing them together. He kissed your hand as you finished putting away the last glass, and pulled you to the couch.  He queued up your favorite Netflix original and pulled you into his side, his right arm lazily resting on your shoulder.

Sometime during the movie, you felt Tom’s hand switch from lightly rubbing your shoulder to trailing his fingertips near your breasts, which you didn’t mind.  Your head rested on his shoulder and you moved a bit so he could reach lower if he was being intentional. He was. You closed your eyes and let the tapping, trilling sensation fill you with a low-level buzz.  He breathed harder as your hand moved to his thigh, massaging closer and closer to his growing erection. The movie was background noise, a third party in the dance you were waltzing.

He kissed the top of your head, whispering words of praise any person would love to hear, and you scooched down so the back of your neck lay on his thigh, his soft blues eyeing you with a seriousness you were compelled to question.  

“Thank you for trusting me, love.  I can’t tell you how much it means that you went to such lengths.”  He leaned forward and you raised your torso, lips meeting somewhere in the middle, your fingertips coming to rest on the back of his neck.  You put up the “wait, one minute” finger and swung your legs up, moving from horizontal to vertical, pulling the front of his shirt and smashing your lips together.  His hands were everywhere as you leaned back on the couch and pulled him on top of you. You giggled, then chuckled, then guffawed as you wondered if synthetic clothing fibers could combust with excessive friction.  That  _ may _ have stopped everything.

He sat up and cocked an eyebrow at you holding your sides, trying to suck in a breath.  You stood up and got some water, calmed down, and tried to return. All he did was ask what was so funny and you almost peed yourself laughing - the joke was LONG over, now you were laughing because you were laughing and on and on.  You excused yourself to the restroom for a few, checked your phone for depressing news of the world, and voila - your giggles were cured. 

Tom was good at his job because he could use his body to convey a message, and he was sending one now.  His legs were apart, his upper body leaned back against the couch, and one hand pinched the bridge of his nose.  You had never seen Tom flustered, but Mr. Suave, Mr. Jaguar spokesman was embarrassed, and you were the cause. As you came out, sufficiently serious and appropriately contrite, you knew you had some significant mood reconstruction to do.  You turned off most of the lights and the television, and sat on the floor in front of him, your hand touching his ankle to let him know you were there, you were calm.

“I’m sorry, Tom.  I don’t know what happened, but please know it wasn’t because I wasn’t enjoying myself - quite the opposite, in fact.”  His hand fell from his face and he leaned forward, looking at you with a resigned smile. You moved your hand up to his knee and gently squeezed, not wanting to confuse an apology with sexual overtures, instead letting him know you were simply there.  His hand covered yours and he leaned further forward to kiss your forehead, his smile tired, but genuine. He stood and crossed the room while you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to tamp down the fear that you’d made more than just a giggly faux pas.  When you heard him start the kettle for tea, you pushed yourself up from the floor and remained near the couch, checking your phone and wondering if you needed to find another place to stay the night. 

You looked up as he sat and placed a steaming mug in front of you, sweetly kissing your temple.  You both sipped and murmured throwaways until he put his mug down, carefully took yours from you, and pulled you both to standing.  Without another word, he led you by the hand to his bedroom and pulled you into a hug. You were stiff, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and he felt it.

“Darling, you didn’t do a thing wrong.  I overreacted and got embarrassed and I’m sorry.”  He kissed you and moved his hands to your bum. “Please stay with me tonight, please let me make it up to you.” You pulled the back of his shirt out of his trousers as he stroked your hair and told you how beautiful you were, how happy he was.  There were no giggles this time as you both quickly escalated to feverish stripping, kissing, licking, caressing, and moaning. You went through the usual range of emotions from fear to self-doubt when Tom encouraged you to get on top. He saw you hesitate, pull back, and he encouraged you to do what you were comfortable with, and accepted your limits without question.  Sex with him was becoming one of your favorite pastimes. 

“Thank God no one lives on the other side of this wall, m’dear.”  You held the sheet under your chin and grinned, proud of how loud you had been. 

“Another great thing about being married to a Deaf guy and living with Deaf people - most of the time it was not an issue.”  You smiled remembering the time that you were so vocal that John said he felt your voice going through him and how much it startled him.  Tom brought you back to the moment by straightening your glasses that you hastily put on, kissing you again and again, and telling you how much he enjoyed being with you, in every way.

Tom’s stamina was impressive, and he would not let you sleep the night away, as he “didn’t want to waste a moment together.” By the time you both dropped from the best kind of exhaustion, you slept more soundly than you had in years.  You didn’t want Monday to come, with its demands on his time and your impending departure. When he woke you with a simple breakfast in bed and a gorgeous bloom, you were happy. You didn’t hesitate to tell him how thankful you were for the time together.

“When I booked the trip, I was afraid you would be booked and not have time to see me.  I was ready for that, though. Sad at the thought, but ready to tell you how impressive the show was and be a normal unaccompanied tourist.”  You were telling the truth, not looking for validation, but he was overtaken by a face full of determination, his sleepy morning smile long gone.

“You don’t think much of me, do you?”  You gasped and reached out for him, vehemently disagreeing.

“If you say you like me so much and you enjoy spending time with me and you’ve agreed to be with me, in my home - then why do you give me so little credit for treating you as you deserve?”  You slumped back on the couch, stunned. You never considered your words would affect him in that way. You hung your head, whispering your apology, holding his hand in yours. He made you promise you’d give him all the credit in the world until he did something stupid and needed you to cut him some slack.  Your laugh brought everything back to normal.


End file.
